Anniversary
by Pakmai
Summary: Sherlock reflects on his life together with John in the 30 years since the first episode of the show, on the Anniversary. One-shot. John/Sherlock, Johnlock.


**It has been a long time since I dipped my toe into the Johnlock pond. But I saw a fan video today and was inspired to write this little one-shot. They will always hold a special place for me because Sherlock was the first show I ever wrote a fic about. And the community was so amazing when I was writing some of my fics. Which people seem to be discovering again, oddly enough. Thank you to everyone who supported me when I was getting started, the kind words they had for my stories and the encouragement that they always gave me. I am still writing fanfic now because of the response I got to those initial stories, especially Letters to a High Functioning Sociopath, which until recently was the longest fic I had ever written. Well, enough nostalgia, I hope you enjoy this little one-shot, and thank you ever so much for reading!**

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**

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It was his anniversary. THE anniversary. The only one that mattered. The day his entire world changed. Sherlock Holmes was introduced to Captain John Watson, M.D. Everything had changed that day, Sherlock knew it even if he didn't want to admit it. Soon he had a flatmate. A flatmate who frustrated him and intrigued him in equal measure. John helped the Consulting Detective in his Work. The only thing he thought he needed. Sherlock used to think it was unfortunate when he realized his Work wasn't the only thing that mattered anymore. John mattered. In a way deeper and stronger than he'd felt. Even for his parents or his miserable, meddling brother. It was some time before he could put a name to it though. To realize exactly how much John meant to him.

The day he confessed to John he had somehow, despite his struggling against it, had fallen in love with the shorter former army doctor, Sherlock was secretly terrified. But like all things, John took it in stride. He smiled, handed Sherlock his tea and said, "About bloody time." That day opened a new world for Sherlock. Being dependent on someone, and having them dependent on him, as well as the more physical side of their relationship, was all new to him. The brilliant man who had the facts of the world at his fingertips (well, most of them, John never let him forget the solar system bit), had never had a truly physical relationship. He disliked desires of the flesh. But not with John. It became almost ritual that if Sherlock was trying to work something out, rather than taking up the whole couch to go to his Mind Palace, John would share it with him instead. Sitting reading his paper with Sherlock's head in his lap, running his hand through the dark curls he seemed obsessed with. It calmed the younger man, helped him relax, and often times, assisted in whatever he was trying to mull over.

It had been a while since Sherlock felt those stubby fingers through his locks. Though thankfully he's retained his hair into his old age, graying as it is. Looking down at his lap, Sherlock turns the page on the scrap book Mrs. Hudson had made and gifted to them years ago right before they retired and moved out of 221B Baker Street. The stories of all their adventures from various news sources and even some memorable comments from John's blog. They had done so much together, been all over the world and solved so many mysteries. There were still mysteries to be solved but now the Detective no longer had the energy or the desire to solve them. Living in the country (though not far from London) with his bees was more fulfilling than he would have ever guessed. For someone who didn't often get sentimental about things, Sherlock cherishes the memories of everything he and John did together. The cases – solved or unsolved – were all a delight. Sharing that with someone had always been the best part.

Slowly putting aside the drink he still allowed himself once in a while, the Detective looked down at his hand, and the simple gold ring he received when John and he finally 'tied the knot'. The proposal was, as ever, practical. It was during a case, Sherlock remembers vividly. John was frustrated because Sherlock had been hurt and had to practically force himself in to see his lover. When he had approached the bed, seeming about ready to yell or scold Sherlock, he merely said in a firm, but calm tone, "Listen, you. We've been sharing a bed for years, living together for even longer, and I know you bloody well love me as much as I love you. It's about time we got married." He had been trying to maintain a stoic face and suppressing a small smile at the end of his speech, having put down a ring box on Sherlock's chest. Of course Sherlock agreed. With a bit of grumbling. He may not have understood marriage or believed in it necessarily, but he wanted to make John happy, and it seemed such a small, trivial thing.

The ring had stayed the same, a little more scuffed perhaps, but Sherlock's hand had changed. A very small trembling of it he never used to have, wrinkles and age spots that presented themselves over the years. Sometimes he hardly recognized his own hands. Turning another page in the scrapbook, Sherlock didn't look at it, distracted instead by the few pictures that were dotted around the study. Some of them together, always somewhat awkwardly, some of them during cases which looked much more natural and often showed the strength of their affection for each other far more than any posed picture. Even their wedding photo. On this day it was hard to stop the flood of memories sometimes, and it occasionally made him miss the old days when he and John would run about London together. But that was a long time ago as well. None of them would be running anywhere any time soon. For a moment, Sherlock closed his eyes and pictured John as he was, the first time he saw him, fresh out of the army, practically standing at attention with cane in hand and confusion written over his face. The nostalgia of it made him smile, but also made him sad that he would never have those moments again.

"Oi! Sherlock, what are you doing? We're going to be late for dinner." John's firm tone comes from the doorway, long since completely gray, wrinkles more prominent in his face, but his affection for his partner has yet to fade.

"Just filing a few things away, John." Sherlock reassured as he stood stiffly, putting aside the scrap book in order to walk over to his husband, admiring him in his good suit. "Honestly, we could have just stayed home and had a much more enjoyable evening." He grumbles with feigned irritation as he goes to get his great coat from the hall.

"Because it's what I want, and it's what people do." John reminds the taller man with tolerant amusement in his tone, slipping into his own jacket before he catches Sherlock by the arm. "I love you, you bloody idiot. Happy Anniversary." Pulling the taller man down for a brief kiss, he smooths his jacket down afterward.

Rather enjoying the kiss as he always does, Sherlock nods a little. "People are idiots." he reiterates for the millionth time in their thirty years of knowing one another. After a beat, he smiles slightly and takes the shorter man's hand in his, their rings pressed together as he meshes their fingers. "Happy Anniversary, John."


End file.
